said.
“I love you, too,” Josie said. Her voice was a hoarse whisper.
“Are you mad at me?” he asked.
Was she? “No,” she said. “I just wanted you to understand.”
“I do,” he said. “I needed reminding. That’s all.”
So do I, Josie thought. I need to remind myself my tween daughter is waiting for me at the Barrington School for Boys and Girls.
Josie wiped away the condensation on Ted’s windows and he drove the few blocks to her home. By the time he reached Phelan Street, the trees whipped restlessly and fat leaves were plastered to the windshield. The sky had turned so black the streetlights came on.
“Looks like tornado weather,” Ted said. “The sky is green.”
“I don’t hear the warning sirens,” Josie said. But the storm made her feel uneasy. She was anxious to get to Amelia and protect her. Maternal instinct had trumped hormones.
“There’s my car. Gotta go!” She kissed Ted lightly, then ran for her Honda. If the rain held off, she could pick up Amelia with time to spare.
The storm wasn’t all that made Josie uneasy. She was in love with Ted. Soon she would have to decide if she wanted to marry him. Amelia adored Ted, but what would happen when she turned into a surly teenager? Would Ted be a steadying influence, or would he make it more difficult for Josie to bring up her daughter? What if he didn’t want a teenager around? He said he liked Amelia—now—but people changed after marriage.
I’ll have to make up my mind soon, she thought, or our romance will wither and die.
She was almost grateful when the storm broke about a mile from Barrington and she could no longer think about her love life. As the rain pounded down, Josie flipped on the headlights and inched up the school’s semicircular drive, careful not to hit the children sprinting for their family cars. She crawled past the humpbacked shapes of SUVs, each holding a waiting mother. Luxury vehicles were second cars at the upscale school.
She made out a Hummer’s blinker flashing dimly through the rain and pumped her brakes to slow her car. The dark, bulky monster powered out of its parking slot, confident it couldn’t be hurt. Josie tapped her horn to let the driver know she was behind her. Another ding wouldn’t make a difference on Josie’s ancient Honda, but hellfire would rain down if she scratched a trophy vehicle.
Josie didn’t fit in at Barrington. The other mothers never let her forget that she was a single mom who worked a low-paying, no-status job. Josie tried not to care.
Amelia was a scholarship student. Barrington prided itself on its diversity. Living in Maplewood, a red-brick suburb more than a hundred years old, made Amelia a “city kid.” She was an exotic species in the rich, sheltered suburbs where women bragged that they hadn’t been downtown in years.
Even with a scholarship, Amelia’s schooling wasn’t free. Josie used a small legacy from her aunt and occasional help from Amelia’s Canadian grandfather. Jane would pick up Amelia after school in a pinch, but she disapproved of Barrington. Jane wanted Amelia in a Catholic school.
Amelia seemed to thrive at Barrington. She was stronger and more mature than Josie had been at her age. Josie had winced when the mean girls at her high school made fun of her mother’s styleless purse as a “cleaning lady’s bag.” When an overprivileged Barrington child had asked Amelia if their dented Honda was the maid’s car, Amelia had shrugged off the insult.
“Her daddy better leave her a bunch of money, because she’s too dumb to make her own,” she told her mother.
Josie watched her daughter carefully for signs that she felt slighted or bullied, but Amelia seemed at home there. Josie would shrug off the petty slights to give her daughter the best possible education.
She was determined that Amelia would dress as well as the other students. Josie stalked the sale racks so her daughter was as stylish as her classmates. Her
“I love you, too,” Josie said. Her voice was a hoarse whisper.
“Are you mad at me?” he asked.
Was she? “No,” she said. “I just wanted you to understand.”
“I do,” he said. “I needed reminding. That’s all.”
So do I, Josie thought. I need to remind myself my tween daughter is waiting for me at the Barrington School for Boys and Girls.
Josie wiped away the condensation on Ted’s windows and he drove the few blocks to her home. By the time he reached Phelan Street, the trees whipped restlessly and fat leaves were plastered to the windshield. The sky had turned so black the streetlights came on.
“Looks like tornado weather,” Ted said. “The sky is green.”
“I don’t hear the warning sirens,” Josie said. But the storm made her feel uneasy. She was anxious to get to Amelia and protect her. Maternal instinct had trumped hormones.
“There’s my car. Gotta go!” She kissed Ted lightly, then ran for her Honda. If the rain held off, she could pick up Amelia with time to spare.
The storm wasn’t all that made Josie uneasy. She was in love with Ted. Soon she would have to decide if she wanted to marry him. Amelia adored Ted, but what would happen when she turned into a surly teenager? Would Ted be a steadying influence, or would he make it more difficult for Josie to bring up her daughter? What if he didn’t want a teenager around? He said he liked Amelia—now—but people changed after marriage.
I’ll have to make up my mind soon, she thought, or our romance will wither and die.
She was almost grateful when the storm broke about a mile from Barrington and she could no longer think about her love life. As the rain pounded down, Josie flipped on the headlights and inched up the school’s semicircular drive, careful not to hit the children sprinting for their family cars. She crawled past the humpbacked shapes of SUVs, each holding a waiting mother. Luxury vehicles were second cars at the upscale school.
She made out a Hummer’s blinker flashing dimly through the rain and pumped her brakes to slow her car. The dark, bulky monster powered out of its parking slot, confident it couldn’t be hurt. Josie tapped her horn to let the driver know she was behind her. Another ding wouldn’t make a difference on Josie’s ancient Honda, but hellfire would rain down if she scratched a trophy vehicle.
Josie didn’t fit in at Barrington. The other mothers never let her forget that she was a single mom who worked a low-paying, no-status job. Josie tried not to care.
Amelia was a scholarship student. Barrington prided itself on its diversity. Living in Maplewood, a red-brick suburb more than a hundred years old, made Amelia a “city kid.” She was an exotic species in the rich, sheltered suburbs where women bragged that they hadn’t been downtown in years.
Even with a scholarship, Amelia’s schooling wasn’t free. Josie used a small legacy from her aunt and occasional help from Amelia’s Canadian grandfather. Jane would pick up Amelia after school in a pinch, but she disapproved of Barrington. Jane wanted Amelia in a Catholic school.
Amelia seemed to thrive at Barrington. She was stronger and more mature than Josie had been at her age. Josie had winced when the mean girls at her high school made fun of her mother’s styleless purse as a “cleaning lady’s bag.” When an overprivileged Barrington child had asked Amelia if their dented Honda was the maid’s car, Amelia had shrugged off the insult.
“Her daddy better leave her a bunch of money, because she’s too dumb to make her own,” she told her mother.
Josie watched her daughter carefully for signs that she felt slighted or bullied, but Amelia seemed at home there. Josie would shrug off the petty slights to give her daughter the best possible education.
She was determined that Amelia would dress as well as the other students. Josie stalked the sale racks so her daughter was as stylish as her classmates. Her
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